


The Graveyard Shift

by Br0uillon



Series: The Lost Days [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, The Lost Days - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-25 18:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14982785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Br0uillon/pseuds/Br0uillon
Summary: What does Castiel do when the bunker's asleep, and where does he spend his lonely nights ? Worried that he might be getting into troubles, or trying to get into dangerous deals in order to help getting Dean back, Sam decides to follow him one night.What he discovers teaches him a lot about the angel's true nature...





	The Graveyard Shift

**Author's Note:**

> On the aftermath of season 13's finale  
> Part of the series "The Lost Days", exploring the consequences of Dean's choices on the two remaining third of Team Free Will

Always the same question. 

Every night, at around the same time, Sam asked himself for the same thing.  
And every night, all he get was, at best, a wild guess, and at worst, a string of worries. 

The same scenario presented itself day in, day out. He would start to feel tired after yet another day of going nowhere with their Winchester archangel problem, and about to bid good night to Castiel, and then he would eventually pause for a moment and consider what on earth could the sleepless angel do the whole night long. 

Years after the angel entered their lives, the doubt remained the same. It even felt more pressing when they inherited the bunker from their grandfather. Now that they have an actual home, leaving Cas behind to go to bed was a strange habit to get used to. 

If, for a long while, it didn't bother either him or Dean-who always suggested something kinky to worm his way out of a question that was extremely uncomfortable for him, because it meant considering the loneliness of his friend, something he was always concerned about-and they just brushed it out…Now that Castiel was the last person he’d see at night and the first he’d see in the morning, his concerns were growing stronger each night. His curiosity was spiked, and Sam was well known for not letting things go once questions and worries pierced his intellect’s veil. 

He had been theorizing things for quite some time.  
Maybe Cas was exploring otherworldly resources to get Dean back. Something dark and morally questionable but they were both ready to go above and beyond to fix it, so, Sam gave him a mental pass each night if that was what he was doing. As long as he didn’t put himself in danger, he could torture Chuck himself, Sam really couldn’t care less.  
Maybe he just wandered alone in the bunker, lost and confused, waiting for the sun to rise.  
Maybe he left. Went to a bar. Pretended he was with Dean.  
Maybe he went to check Heaven’s pulse, as Sam was vaguely aware of how bad things were up there.  
Maybe…Maybe something else ? When questioning Castiel’s current flirt with depression, Sam’s preferred story was that he had a concealed identity, and ran away to be someone else, to escape the misery of their lives, and the sadness that came with it. What if he had a relationship with someone he wanted to protect ? What if he had a job, something dark and mysterious, devoted to humanity ? A secret agent ? That never failed to make him smile. Castiel could either be a walking catastrophe…Or the best one the CIA or the FBI has ever seen. And how rich would it be to have an actual agent within their ranks, after years of pretending and handing fake badges and delirious aliases ? 

But the doubt remained. The least preferred option, the one that really bothered Sam was whether he was haunting aimlessly the bunker…This just would be the saddest thing, on top of a pile of sad, on top of countless layers of misery. Dean’s absence was a nightmare. Cas was miserable, and guilty, Sam suspected. He could never bring himself to fully report the exchange they had just before he gave himself away for Michael to use him as vessel, and there certainly was something tragic underlying in that conversation. Sam was half convinced he knew already…Wouldn't it be in typical Dean fashion to ask Cas to end him shall things go sideways ? He wasn't too worried about it. It was way, way beyond Castiel’s strength. But he could very well have promised, in the fire and the urge of the moment. Once again, unspoken truths and concealed feelings tied the three of them together to a ribbon of lies in the name of love. Those could be the worst, Sam pondered. Crafted with care, but harmful to a nuclear point. 

Not knowing Cas’s night activity didn't fell into the lie category. Sam’s faith and trust in the angel was unwavering. But...Sam was curious. Partly out of sheer wonder, partly out of worries he might get himself into troubles, one way or another. He was a legacy, after all. Curiosity is part of the job description. 

So if he followed him, just one time…It wouldn't be a bad thing, right ? It would be out of care for his best friend. To alleviate his trouble.  
Yes.  
Yes it would.  
That night, he would only pretend going to bed. 

Cas never knew how to turn on or off the GPS tracker on his phone.  
Currently, it was on. 

 

***

Ten to one.  
Sam had been hiding in the woods behind the bunker, alone with Baby for a while now, his eyes glued to his phone, waiting for the little green dot to pinpoint a final destination. It had been moving for about half an hour, almost exactly when he went to bed. Well, when he said he did. He brushed off the cold shiver caused by this vague lie, trying to convince himself that his intentions were pure.  
-Dean would approve, he said out loud. But as his thoughts were getting a little too tumultuous for his taste, he turned the radio on, and, with a defeated smile, welcomed another of Bob Seger’s greatest hits. If he didn't knew any better, he’d say that Dean left behind a fragment of his soul in the car.  
He never quite followed, or understood, as attached as he was to the Impala, his brother’s personification of the car, but tonight, as he waited for Cas to reach his mysterious night shift, he tapped gently his fingers against the empty leather next to him, and to the one around the wheel.  
Going insane back again was a possibility, but it sure as hell felt like the car was lonely, too. As his throat suddenly tightened, he sighed.  
-Yeah, I miss him, too.  
It probably didn’t mean a thing, but the radio fritzed for a brief instant. Sam didn’t had any time to interpret the signs, as the green dot stopped moving. He had to look twice before he identified the place and frowned, disconcerted.  
-What the hell, Cas…  
Maybe he was right to be worried after all.  
This wasn't a place for an angel, that he was sure of.  
Not that kind anyway. 

It took him less than ten minutes to arrive where Cas, supposedly, was. He parked the car a couple of streets away, trying not to get instantly spotted by the angel if he looked around. 1967 Chevrolet Impalas weren't exactly common around here...Or at all, now that he gave it a thought.  
Fall was here already, and the drenched crisp of the fallen leaves echoed his every step in the undisturbed silence of the night. In the distance, nothing but the delicate whistle of the wind, and an ambulance siren a few blocks away. He buried his cold hands deep inside his pockets, trying not to focus on the white smoke caused by his breathing. He almost expected something monstrous to jump him at any time, as if his system, used to fight all the things that goes bump into the night couldn’t accept that this one time, nothing dreadful was hidden in the shadows. This job, man, it really messes with your head. 

After a rapid walk, inspired by the cold and the threat of an imminent rain fall, he faced the massive, white and green building for a second, unsure as to where he would find Cas in the expected maze of corridors and aisles. He decided to play it naively, and patted his inside pocket. Yep. Good old FBI badge. Worth a shot.  
He entered the Emergency Room hall and immediately showed his badge to the presumably very young nurse stationed there.  
-Good evening Miss. I am looking for a man in a trench coat, about…  
He didn't even had to materialize Castiel’s height with his hand that the caregiver smiled at him.  
-You mean Steve ! He’s in pediatrics. He is not in any troubles, is he ?  
Sam frowned at the name she used, then smiled back at her in the most comforting way. Steve. Strange.  
-No, he is not. I just need to ask him a few questions, that’s all.  
She sighed and nodded.  
-Try Arthur Denton’s room, pediatrics ICU. Steve’s an angel around here.  
Sam’s jaw nearly fell, as he rose his eyebrows in sheer surprise.  
The plot thickens.  
The nurse pointed him towards the elevator’s direction and told him to go to the third floor. Sam was about to leave when she stopped him.  
-Agent, can I ask you a question ?  
-Sure.  
-Since when are plaid shirts and torn jeans F.B.I approved ?  
What. An. Idiot.  
He didn't really thought about that detail and now probably looked like an imbecile. An imbecile in plaid shirt and torn jeans.  
Quick, Winchester. Improvise. What would Dean say ?  
-Uh…We’re working on a very confidential case. We’re supposed to look like civilians. And you’d notice that one twenty two in the morning isn't a conventional hour to look for persons of interest either.  
Risky move, adding more nonsense to the nonsense. But it seemed to work. She shook her head and wished him a pleasant night, and went right back to deciphering a pile of half-filled files left there by one of the doctors earlier today. 

Sam considered taking the elevator, but ultimately decided to take the stairs. Elevators are known to reach for the busiest area of corridors, and Sam didn't wanted for Cas to know of his presence. Not immediately anyway. 

What was Castiel doing, night after night, in the room of a little sick kid ? Of all the theories he’d crafted, nights after nights, this one really took him aback. 

He stopped by the second floor first, a relatively quiet surgery aisle, and swiftly managed to find the changing room and grab the first lab coat he could find…And that definitely didn't fit. He looked at the tag sewn in the back.  
I’m an imbecile, take two.  
-Size four, Sam, really ? He whispered for himself.  
He checked around the few lockers that were opened before finding one that would fit him, and carefully took out the name tag. He then grab the closest stethoscope he could find, and joined back the stairwell to get into the third floor.  
Improvisation, Winchester. Improvisation.  
Your brother would be proud. 

***

There were a few things Sam didn't really considered when he reached the third floor.  
First, that it would look as beautiful as it did. There were animals and superheroes painted on the walls, and bright colors everywhere. 

Second, that it would be so busy in the middle of the night. He didn't followed the news, and became aware of a school bus crash in the afternoon eavesdropping a conversation of two doctors and three nurses down the hall. Apparently, two kids were in pretty bad shape. As a knee-jerk reaction, he spontaneously asked Chuck to do something for those children, even if he was pretty damn sure Chuck had given up on them entirely at this point. But still, it couldn’t hurt to try. There was something painfully unbearable in knowing that while they were playing hide and seek with death all the time, some very real, very terminal departures happened all the time, everywhere. 

Third…That it was the saddest and yet the most hopeful place in the world, and he’d seen quite a few of both types in his life. As far as he could see in the long corridor, there were children everywhere. Sick kids through glass panels, and worried parents, brothers and sisters, family members, most of them not even asleep even though it was past one thirty in the morning. Smiling kids after all, for those who were still awake. Those who weren't still looked content, despite how visibly poor they were. Courage was sweating off every walls of the aisle. 

 

It took him a moment to get over the initial staggering despair, and to feel the love rather than the fear. He considered leaving Castiel to whatever he was doing for a second, but he was too far down the rabbit hole. He couldn't not know. He walked down the long corridor, searched for that Arthur kid for a few minutes before finding the room, at the very end of the corridor. Sam tried his best not to look at all the other kids as he walked down the aisle, but it was hard to ignore the depressing pictures one after the other. Some with both parents asleep on a nearby couch, some with exhausted moms resting their heads on their crossed arms on their child’s bed.  
Some with no one at all. Instead of doors, each room looked like a little transparent box with sliding doors and some of them weren't even closed.  
Arthur’s, for instance. 

Sam was fairly sure that the obscurity gave him the advantage of seeing without being seen, which was exactly what he needed. He leaned against the wall opposite to the room, and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. 

Inside the room was young teenager, barely old enough to hit puberty yet. Sam estimated his age between 11 and 14, but he could be either much older or much younger, as it was a well-known fact that chronically ill children aged differently. He wasn't exactly a specialist, despite his current outfit, but it didn't take a genius to understand that this little boy’s life was on its tail end. He had countless tubes on his arm, nose, running from under his shirt near his shoulder to a few screens monitoring his vitals. As far as Sam could see, those weren't good. There was medical material, screens and scary machines about everywhere, all of which were far more quiet than he expected, as if they aimed to achieve a relative peacefulness in an ocean of pain. 

And, right by the bed, sat down on a chair, his trench coat and tie neatly folded on the nearby table, was Castiel. He looked different to Sam, as if the mask of pain and hardship he usually wore was, simply, gone, resting with the rest of his attire. He was deep into the reading of a story of a bunch of superheroes Sam was vaguely familiar with. Arthur wasn't missing a word of Cas’s delicate, inspired, animated reading, looking the happier Sam’s ever seen anyone in a long time.  
-Oh, Cas…Sam sighed, both overwhelmed by the sensitive nature of the angel that was fully deployed, here, and choked by the heaviness of their surroundings.  
How long had he been doing that ?  
How many children had he seen ?  
How many were gone ?  
If, at first, he thought he’d just come back home and never talk about it first, he now couldn't avoid getting to know more about it from him, and whether he was correctly processing that added load of worries and pain.  
He stayed there, for now.  
It could wait. 

***

Cas dropped the book, exhausted by the endless slog of the poor masked bastard. Obviously, Arthur wanted more, but he laughed at his friend’s reaction.  
-Come on, Steve. Oliver is cool !  
Castiel frowned at the kid, and tilted his head in a clear rebuttal of his enthusiasm.  
-Oliver Queen is a spoiled child whose tantrums killed dozens.  
-But he saves people.  
-Or he threatens them and put them in danger.  
Arthur sighed.  
-You don't like superheroes.  
-I question their values.  
-They fight evil !  
Castiel was about to raise another point to counter Arthur’s rhetoric, but an expression of sudden struggle painted itself on the kid’s face. All too well acquainted to the sudden changes in Arthur’s vitals, the angel rushed to his side and reached for the little button next to the pillow, and for good measure, lifted two fingers to his forehead, even if he knew it wouldn't work. He couldn't take the chance anyway. As the child’s failing body persisted in its stubbornness, the angel did the only thing he considered useful while waiting for the imminent rush from the nurse, hopping on the bed, lying next to Arthur, holding him as tight as he could. 

The nurse came and injected yet another chemical relief in the I.V, quickly followed by a young woman, barely older than Sam. Still hidden in a corner of the aisle, he was too overwhelmed to even move, but he understood immediately that the small brunette was Arthur’s mother. She was carrying the remarkable burden of losing her sole child with a dignity that he’d never seen before. 

Shortly after the injection, Arthur’s vitals stabilized, and he leaned against the angel, shutting his eyes, gaining crumbles of rest in Castiel’s arms, while his mom sat down on the chair and held both the angel’s and her son’s hands, while looking for any sign that would relieve her anticipated dread in Castiel’s eyes. Anything he might have noticed that would, somehow, give her the inch of hope she would cling onto with all of her strength.  
She found nothing.  
The three of them remained there for a while, lulled by the sound of the rain outside and the mechanically supported breathing of the child. After a while, Arthur detached himself a little from the angel’s protective grip, still concerned by whether his friend believed in superheroes.  
-I do believe in them, but I also believe that the real superheroes aren't wearing a cape, and most of them don't have superpowers.  
Arthur’s big, feverish eyes looked at him with the curiosity found only in truly innocent people. Despite how newly acquainted to the situation Sam was, he knew that, somehow, Arthur would never lose that innocence. He’d never know what monsters look like. He couldn't tell if it was a blessing, or not. He probably witnessed and felt enough pain on his own to deserve to be shielded from any more of the world’s horrors. For a while, Sam considered whether the undoubtably impending death of the child would truly relieve him. He’d go to heaven, there weren't even the beginning of a doubt about it, but even Cas admitted a while ago that it wasn't a perfect place, and even less nowadays. And what would Arthur create out of his short and difficult existence that could justify an eternity of happiness? There was something so wrong about knowing what the afterlife looked like, scaled down to the reality of the world outside of their endless, exhausting battle against anything and everything evil. He hoped there was some other place they knew nothing about, and that, in itself, was a form of faith he could chose to blindly believe in.

As Arthur regained a little bit of energy, Castiel stood out back on the floor, and grabbed a glass of water he handed to Arthur.  
-I’m going to tell you the story of real superheroes, my young friend.  
Arthur tapped the empty space next to him on the bed, and his mother laid alongside his weak body, all ears.  
-Steve’s stories are so awesome, mom. Last time, he told me more about dinosaurs than any Jurassic Park. And about the pyramids ! The Egyptians had weird ideas, sometimes…  
Arthur’s mother kissed him on the forehead, trying to ignore how warm it was under her lips.  
-Cas, remind me to ask you about the Egyptians, Sam whispered to himself, half a smile on. 

Cas rolled up his shirt sleeves, and unbuttoned the top two studs, while his captive audience bathed in the expectation of another amazing story. 

Sam had enough. He understood immediately where his winged friend was headed for, and wasn't really in capacity of hearing someone consider their work as one of heroes. Dean, maybe…But he, himself, was too flawed and made the wrong choices far too often to even fit the description. There were some things he would never forgive himself for, and seeing Castiel painting his portrait as one they should make movie or TV shows was too much for him. Even if, he suddenly remembered, TV shows about their lives had been a thing in the past. For a second, he considered whether that…What was it ? Fifth ? No, sixth season they had been accidentally made aware of a few years ago of Supernatural had been the last. He sure as hell hoped it did. 

He quietly left the aisle, trying not to overhear the worried tone in the nurses station conversation about Arthur's rapidly declining health, and genuinely hoped for a miraculous recovery, regardless to his affliction. He put back coat and stethoscope were they belonged for real heroes to use them in a few hours, and left the hospital back to the car, as a storm was raging inside of his mind about this whole touching side of his feathered friend’s earthly existence. 

**

When Castiel left the hospital, that night, the exhausted traces of orange and purple in the sky were already announcing sunrise. He stayed longer than he usually did. He had put his coat back on, but stuffed his tie in his pocket, as if it was too hard to put it back on. All he wanted was to rush back to the bunker and find something to bring Dean back, and convince his own self that his existence had a meaning beside this. It couldn't be the only thing. It was eating himself up not to be able to do more. He used to have such power, such ability to make a difference. Now, all he felt like was this impotent creature, a reject from heaven, whose sole utility seemed to create more chaos and destruction and pain. Finding Dean was his number one priority. And bringing him back. He needed it more than anything in the world.  
He needed it even more that morning. 

He walked through the visitor parking lot, lost in his thought, and didn't notice at first the beautiful line of the black car parked just beside a bench, a few feet away from him. When he walked past it, a common voice he didn't expected called him from the inside.  
-Hey buddy…Need a lift ? 

At first, taken aback, Castiel had a knee jerk reaction and looked pissed. But as Sam’s reassuring smile welcomed him inside, it faded away quickly. He was, all in all, relieved that someone busted him, even if he didn't do anything wrong…Hiding it was far too close to lying for his taste, and he’d been willing to talk to Sam about it for days now. He just never found the right words, or was afraid he’d judge him, one way or another. Of course, those were excuses. If it were Dean, maybe he’d have to explain himself…He actually already had that argument inside of his head a dozen of times. He’d objected that their lives were a pile of crap on top of another bigger pile of crap, probably on top of another one even bigger, and that adding more pain to the pain wasn't necessary. He’d want to shield him from more hardships, as Dean always did, sometimes not in the most subtle of ways. He would probably get mad at his refusal to stop. Their situation was desperate enough for him to long for those sterile arguments he now craved so much, because that would mean he was there to have them with him. Yeah, Dean would be a pain in his feathers…But Sam would likely understand.

For the first part of the short journey back to the bunker, they remained silent. Sam was carefully weighing how he’d confront Castiel about what he saw, and Castiel was carefully weighing how he’d respond and what exactly Sam knew. Instead of turning right where he should have, Sam turned left and parked the car near a 24 hours diner. For some reasons, he was craving a piece of cherry pie. And regardless to his impaired experience with food, so was Cas. 

As expected, the place was practically desert. A couple of night truckers getting their coffee fix, and two giggling teenagers with their hands intertwined in front of two milk shakes, isolated in a booth opposite to the table Sam and Cas chose. Despite it being 5:56 in the morning, the abnormally cheerful waitress brought two pieces of one of Dean’s favorite pie in the state, and two cups she filled with coffee. She granted them with the loveliest smile anyone had ever seen at such unholy hour. In a strange unison, mirroring each other’s movement, angel and human took a bite of the dessert, and for a second, Sam considered whether Dean’s absence pull them close enough to react the same way to some situations. Castiel had no doubts, he knew that the only way to fit in humanity was to observe and imitate his surroundings. He didn't even do it consciously anymore. 

Sam cleared his throat, tapping nervously on the side of his cup. Witness to his discomfort, Castiel decided to go first, in order to ease the awkwardness of the instant.  
-You followed me.  
Sam looked immediately guilty and Cas tried to show a reassuring grin to facilitate his friend’s situation. But all Sam registered was a slightly disapproving grin, and he regretted it all right away.  
-I am sorry, Cas, I am. I did.  
-It’s okay, Sam. I should have told you.  
-No, no no no…I should have asked. I was just worried about what you did all night long.  
Castiel frowned.  
-Worried ?  
-I hate to know you are alone for seven, eight hours.  
Castiel nodded.  
-So you didn't thought I might do something wrong.  
Sam went from surprise to denial.  
-What ? No ! I know you, Cas. I trust you.  
They both called a truce in the current misunderstanding by digging into the pie, and trying not to feel the overwhelming sweetness clouding their judgement.  
-Listen, man, I was simply concerned that you would get into troubles.  
Castiel’s eyes grew bigger, failing to grasp Sam’s worries.  
-Visiting the pediatric aisle and reading stories to sick children doesn't exactly qualify as “troubles”.  
Sam felt the emphasis of the last word hitting him in the face as Cas quoted it with his fingers.  
-Can you promise to me that this isn't taking a toll on you ?  
-No, I can not promise this.  
-See, this is exactly what I was afraid of. We already have a lot on our plates, man. I have seen how down you are. Don't you dare think that I don't care about it.  
He sounded so much like Dean, Sam froze for a second, carried away by the duality of acknowledging how flagrant his brother’s influence was over him, and how big the gap of his absence felt, yet again. As if the feeling grew stronger day in, day out.  
-Sam, I never…I know you do. But I need to feel…Like I can make a difference.  
-You do ! You make a hell of a difference.  
-Do I, Sam ? Because, honestly, lately, beside moving the dust off some archaic books, I don't do much. I can't bring Dean back, I can't help heaven, I can't fix Jack’s grace, I can't even relieve you from the burden you are carrying.  
Sam’s eyes became instantly shinier, and his voice broke.  
-It is mine to carry.  
-It was not your fault !  
-Maybe not, but it is not yours either. You are essential to us. You are a pillar of this family. We need you.  
-I’m useless. Whatever power I have left is fading daily.  
-Cas, you need to learn something. Your worth will never be defined by your powers. Never, you hear me ?  
-Tell me you didn't feel empty when you stopped using yours.  
Sam had a movement of surprise. The conversation was taking a direction he did not anticipated. And lying was off limits.  
-Did I miss feeling powerful ? Yes. I did. Did I miss knowing that I could do things we didn't know where even possible ? Of course I did. But if Dean and you taught me one thing, it’s that they weren't defining me or my choices, or at least they shouldn't. It works for you too, buddy. What do you think we’ve been teaching Jack over the past year ?  
Cas shrugged, now observing how quickly his own argument backfired.  
-I’m an angel, Sam. I picked humanity over heaven. I chose to betray everything I believed in.  
-No, Cas. Everything you were taught to believe in.  
-Same difference ! Free will stripped me of powers you can't even imagine.  
-Free will allowed you to be yourself, rather than a copy of a copy of a copy of a soldier.  
-And now Heaven is dying because of me.  
Sam pointed an angry finger at his friend.  
-Wrong. You know it.  
-Do I ? I caused a carnage when I tried to bring them free will.  
-Metatron did most of the damages.  
-With my grace.  
Sam sighed.  
-Do you think I willfully launched the apocalypse ?  
Castiel blinked.  
-Which one ?  
Impassive, Sam winced.  
-The first one.  
-No you didn't. You were manipulated.  
-Is that what you really think ?  
Castiel was annoyed that Sam could even suggest doubting him.  
-Yes, Sam, it is what I truly believe.  
-Then why can't you accept that you were in the exact same situation ? You tried your best to improve things and were manipulated by someone with an agenda.  
-It doesn't make me any less responsible.  
It was like talking to a brick wall. It reminded him of his big brother.  
-Dean would kick your ass if he heard you talking like that.  
A throbbing pain echoed in Castiel’s every nerves.  
-But Dean is not here and I don't know what to do to bring him back and staying idle is torturing me.  
-You aren't staying idle. We are going to find something. We always do.  
Cas stared at Sam with a growing feeling of despair, and he knew Sam felt it too.  
-What if we can't ? What if nothing can save Dean ?  
I’ll never forgive myself, then, they both thought, at the exact same time.  
A painful silence fell back on their booth as the happy waitress refilled their coffee. Sam thanked her, as Cas tried to mobilize whatever sensory memory of a cherry pie he could gather in order to give a taste to that disturbingly bland pile of molecules.  
Sam emptied half of his very lukewarm coffee cup in one sip, readying himself for the next question he was dying to ask.  
-Who is Arthur ?  
Castiel’s mouth was full of crust and cherry jelly, and so disconcerted by the question that his efforts to ignite the taste of the pie fell flat.  
-He was waiting for a heart and lung transplant.  
Suddenly, even Sam’s pie lost all taste.  
-Was ?  
-He died an hour ago.  
Cas felt all of a sudden so tired he could have fell asleep, for the first time in a long time. Sam was silently taking in the tragic loss of someone he never met, only observed from afar for a few minutes.  
-How long…  
-A few weeks. And so did I of Ethan, Sarah, Theo, Charlie, and a dozen other children.  
-How long have you been doing this ?  
-For months. Every time I spend a night at the bunker.  
Sam was terrified of what would come off his next question.  
-Did any of them make it ?  
Castiel sighed. He knew it would happen. Somehow, he hoped Sam wouldn't instantly connect all the dots.  
-I reaped them all.  
Right this instant, Sam felt like he swallowed a brick.  
-You…Reaped them ?  
-Yes, Sam. I reaped them. As in being a reaper.  
Without giving it a second thought, Sam held a hand in the air and was quickly spotted by the overjoyed employee.  
-What alcohol do you serve ?  
-Beer, mostly.  
-I am going to need something stronger.  
-Erm, whiskey, I guess ?  
-Great. Perfect. I am going to take a triple one, dry, and he’s going to take the whole bottle. Don't bother bringing a glass with it. He won't need it.  
For a split second, Nancy the happy waitress froze, unable to decipher whether that cute guy and his tall friend that looked like a reject from That ‘70s Show on booth 6 were joking or not. She was trying to decide whether it was a good idea to bring them what they asked, and was it even what they asked indeed ? She waited for them to angrily call her back, as she was taking a long time to come back. Instead, they asked her for the check.  
What a weird, weird night. 

**

The trip back home was silent. Sam was trying to register what all of that meant, and Cas was considering how to damage control. It ended up with them both in the library, sipping on the home version of the whiskey that most probably didn't even existed at the diner.  
-Billie ?  
-Naomi.  
He frowned.  
-Wasn't she…  
-Dead ? You of all people should know that in our world, it’s a temporary state.  
Sam’s head tilted lightly.  
-Fair enough.  
-Reapers are angels. Billie and Jessica are in over their head with Heaven’s current decline. They didn't ask. I had been reading stories with those kids for a few days and I have seen how brutal their departures might be. At least I do things on my terms. I can assure you that I do my best to make it easy on them, and on their closest kin.  
-So you are…What, a reaper by interim ?  
-It’s not my main…Function, if you must. Heaven is on an all hands on deck situation.  
-But the reapers…Does Billie knows ?  
-I suppose she has arrangements with Naomi. Billie and I aren't exactly the best of friends.  
Sam looked at the angel with a half-shocked expression.  
-My head hurts.  
-It’s the whiskey.  
-Definitely not the whiskey.  
Cas understood it as a clear signal for him to refill both their glasses. He did increase the dosage on Sam’s, since he clearly looked like he needed it, and Sam emptied it in one sip.  
-How do you feel ?  
-About being a reaper ? I told you, it’s on my terms.  
-About not being able to save them.  
Gut punch. You, my friend, have always been a sad drunk.  
-I tried. Some things can't be fixed, and I have done enough harm to my former home to not try and question their decisions anymore, regardless to how unjust they are. At least I make sure that their passing is peaceful and surrounded with light and love rather than fear. It’s something.  
Cas knew there just was no way the conversation would evolve from there, not because Sam didn't wanted to - oh he had billions of questions left to ask - but his state of inebriation was probably a little too advanced to carry on. Instead, he walked him to his room, and make a mental note to do an aspirin and bacon run in the morning, because he would need it. He was barely capable to keep standing.  
-I’m proud of you, Cas. This requires courage.  
-Let’s just say that whiskey is talking for you.  
-No. I am serious. It is.  
Cas sighed. Just like Nancy, he couldn't tell what's what. They reached his room, as Cas tried his best to keep his tall friend on a relatively vertical position, a task that required more and more dexterity as the alcohol progressed in his bloodstream. Sam stared at him with a strange, possibly not entirely whiskey-induced intensity, before he bursted in laughter.  
-When Dean is going to know this…  
-Yes. I know. Now go get some sleep. You need it.  
-Right. Good night, Death.  
-That’s not funny.  
-It’s a little bit funny.  
-You are drunk.  
-I’m best friend with Death.  
-That sounds so very Winchester indeed.  
Cas made sure that Sam had safely landed in his bed before he closed the door, and walked back to the library. He was greeted by the earliest riser of the household, his very own child. Still silently carrying the loss of a kid he’d been friend with for a while, he decided he and Jack would go out to get some breakfast.  
Nancy wasn't thrilled. 

** 

Before the alcohol knocked him down, Sam reached for his laptop and opened it on an email inbox page he set up a few weeks ago. Fighting the effects of the whiskey just a little more, he opened a new message, and quickly typed the sum up of the night. He also apologized for the eventual typos, admitting that he was far more drunk than he’d been in a while.  
He concluded by a reminder of how lucky they were to have Castiel in their lives and how brave he was, and that if they failed anything and everything else, at least they made a good man out of the angel.  
Once more, he signed by reminding his big brother how much he missed him. There was no way to know whether he would access those daily emails, or if he’d read them when he’d be back - because they would get him back - but if anything, it made Sam feel a little lighter each time he made sure that whatever Dean was missing, there would be a way for him to know. 

Little did Sam know that his emails were fueling Dean in ways Michael couldn't fathom. All it took were a couple of minutes of conscience each day, enough to access the nearest internet connection facility. A few heartfelt entries would soon help him kick the imposter out, that he was sure of.  
Some urgent things required his complete and total devotion, and to quiet down the egotistical archangel he had for roommate.  
Some very urgent things, actually.  
He had an angel’s feathered ass to kick.


End file.
